


(A Tangent From) A Treatise on the Impact of De Rolo's Theorem on the Interaction Between Differentiated Foundational Energies

by bboiseux



Series: Critical Role Campaign 1 [6]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, Mild Angst, Plus bonus boring academic writing!, pining from afar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 21:45:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14656860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bboiseux/pseuds/bboiseux
Summary: Lyra tries to continue working on her treatise about the potential uses of Louise de Rolo's theorem.  But what fills her mind is the memory of Cassandra's hand on her arm.Lyra struggles with her feelings.A fanfic for a fanfic!  Takes place after Chapter 1 ofstrongbut'si could be a morning sunrise all the time, which is a beautiful character study of Cassandra de Rolo and you should read it immediately.





	(A Tangent From) A Treatise on the Impact of De Rolo's Theorem on the Interaction Between Differentiated Foundational Energies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [strongbut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strongbut/gifts).



> A big thank you to Marie for giving me permission to do this ridiculous thing.

“De Rolo’s theorem is not limited to the manipulation of the magical energy field,” wrote Lyra, “Her calculations on gravitational displacement have a direct impact on the study of the interaction of natural law, arcane law, and divine law.  By considering the influence of Bigby and Drawmij’s studies on the current models for planar interactions in combination with De Rolo’s insights into the modeling of more mundane arcane interactions . . .”  Lyra paused, looking out into the dim, flickering light of the library for a moment.

After that moment stretched to a minute and that minute stretched to five, she sighed, placed the quill in its resting place, and pushed the chair away from the desk with a scrape.  She set her glasses on the desk and rubbed at her eyes, burning from strain.  It was far too late to be working, but after Cassandra had left, she had felt a sudden urge to push forward with her research, to fill her mind with the minutia of Louise De Rolo’s work.

Because if she stopped thinking for even a moment, her mind drifted back to Cassandra’s hand on her arm.  The touch itself had been a complete breach of decorum—unusual for most people in Whitestone, but especially for Cassandra—and the degree to which the touch had lingered (gripped even) was far outside the norm.  Lyra wondered if—

Oh gods, she was such an idiot!  She’d blathered on and she’d tried to listen because she knew that listening was so important to getting to know someone and Cassandra was so important and—  Lyra covered her eyes with both hands and pressed, trying to hold the tears in.  She took a deep breath, drinking in the darkness behind her eyelids and sat up.  She was a capable and professional researcher.  She did not get overwhelmed or flustered by any problem and certainly not by a simply touch on her arm.  Probably Cassandra was being kind, she told herself.  She had always thought of Cassandra as a distant foreboding person—the mistress of the house to be respected and admired, but not approached—but she was also a diplomat, so she was probably well practiced in handling awkward individuals.  So the touch had been a simple kindness.  And there was nothing warm and affectionate about it at all.

Yet, all Lyra could think about was how much she had wanted Cassandra to keep her hand there.  Or how much better it would have been without the sweater in the way.  It had even felt like Cassandra didn’t want to let go.

But Lyra knew that those feelings were in her head.  Gods!  She had so desperately wanted to share anything with Cassandra that she had talked about her love of silly romances.  Although, _The Cursed Passageway_ really was an exhilarating book.  And she would love to have someone to talk to about it.  Or to kiss her like the heroine was kissed.  Or even—

Lyra snapped back to the flickering light and shadows of the library.  She breathed deep and steadied herself, fumbling for her glasses and pulling the chair back to the desk.  She began to write again.

“. . . we arrive at the conclusion that the current models for the interaction of natural, arcane, and divine laws are overly complex.  De Rolo’s theorem provides a map for building a simplified model—”

It had felt so good to be that close to Cassandra, to be taken that seriously.  Okay, maybe, she was just humoring her.  She had caught Lady Vex’ahlia and Lord Percival exchanging looks far too many times when she talked about her work to have any illusions about how interesting she was.

But wouldn’t it be nice to be interesting to just one person?

Lyra shook her head and pulled herself back to the writing.  “. . . for the energy exchange between different interplanar laws.  By consulting—”

Lyra flipped through her notes looking for the right section.  She knew it was there.  She was certain she had read it in the manuscripts of Louise’s work.  But she couldn’t seem to find it.  Which was fine.  She remembered the part she was referencing.  It should be easy to find.  She grabbed a candle and walked briskly through the library towards the correct shelf.

On the way there, she passed the portrait of Louise.  It was one of the few De Rolo portraits to survive the reign of the Briarwoods, by virtue of being hung in one of the bedrooms.  It hadn’t been a place of honor, but it had been a place of safety.  When the castle had been retaken, the surviving portraits were moved to make them more visible.

The portrait was fairly common for the period.  Louise stood by a pedestal, pointing with her right hand at a passage in an open book, while her left hand rested on a large hunting dog.  It was fairly heavy-handed symbolism on the part of the artist, thought Lyra, but . . . Louise also looked so regal.

She had died young—her mid-thirties, most of her work done in her twenties—and this portrait must have captured her in her prime.  She wore an ornate gown of blue with hints of white and purple in the details, yards of fabric billowing below and completely off the shoulders at the top.  A ruby necklace hung around her neck.  Her hair was a deep brown, woven into a complicated braid and topped with a tiara that matched the necklace.  Her eyes were a cool blue and her lips completely unstained, against the fashion of the time.  Cassandra didn’t rouge her lips either.

Lyra blushed a deep crimson and took an automatic step towards the painting, her free hand reaching towards Louise.   She looked over her shoulders into the darkened library, but there was, of course, no one there.  Her fingers brushed Louise’s lips.  They were rough and flat and cold, the cracking of the paint creating a harsh landscape.  Up close, the beauty of the image disappeared entirely.

And that was it, wasn’t it?  Cassandra looked quite wonderful at a distance.  It was beautiful to dream, to imagine what it would be like for Cassandra to want to be close to her, to hold her, to kiss her, to—

But dreams tended to fall apart the closer you got to them.

Better to keep an academic distance.

Lyra walked back to the desk, blowing out the spare candles guttering in the library as she went.  She organized her papers and locked them away in the desk the De Rolo’s had so kindly provided.  Automatically, she grabbed a colorful paperback from one of the drawers.  It was her “rest time” reading, a lovely story about a dark castle and a hidden treasure and how the love of a woman could overcome the dark torments of the past.  It was gripping and she hoped to finish it tonight.  The half-elf heroine’s brother had just escaped the clutches of the villain, but his escape was no sure thing, and the mystery of the vault had yet to be solved!  And the romance!  All these books seemed to end with the lovers in a passionate embrace, but there was always the possibility that _this_ one wouldn’t.  The tension was overwhelming!

Her chest tightened as she looked at the cover.  She was being awful to Cassandra, wasn’t she?  All these terrible thoughts of how Cassandra had merely tolerated her, humored her.  Lyra knew a little of what Cassandra had lived through.  She knew Percival’s story and she knew that Cassandra had suffered more.  And now she had all the responsibility of Whitestone.  And here Lyra was thinking about herself and what she wanted and what she dreamed of.  She flushed at what she had imagined.  She was being . . . she was being selfish!

Lyra straightened up and clutched the book to her chest.  She wanted a friend, but, more importantly, maybe Cassandra needed a friend too.  And Lyra had so many books, so many adventures.  And they could talk about them!  Lyra felt her face warm into a smile as she pictured Cassandra smiling and laughing over tea and books, her hand resting lightly on Lyra’s arm.

Yes, books were an excellent idea.  She rushed off to her room, imagining the books that Cassandra might like best.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm taking fic requests! Find the details [at this post on my tumblr](https://bboiseux.tumblr.com/post/173750594440/taking-critical-role-fic-requests-now).
> 
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